


On Bended Knee

by Kemmasandi



Series: Coming Clean [4]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Discussion of Consent Issues, Fingering, Other, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-30 18:02:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1021724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kemmasandi/pseuds/Kemmasandi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Orion tests the limits of his power, and Megatronus comes out of it with new understanding of his little mate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Bended Knee

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eiseedoesit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eiseedoesit/gifts).



> **Title:** On Bended Knee  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Universe:** TF:Prime [AU – _Coming Clean_ ]  
>  **Characters/Pairings:** Megatronus/Orion Pax  
>  **Content Advisory:** Smut [sticky], some discussion of consent
> 
>  **Summary:** Orion tests the limits of his power, and Megatronus comes out of it with new understanding of his little mate.
> 
> I say I’m going off Meg/OP as a pairing, and then I come back with a Meg/OP fic not a week later. How that makes sense, I dunno.
> 
> This fits into mine and Eisee’s ‘Coming Clean’ ficverse, sometime after [Certainty]() but well before [What Happens In Kaon.]() Written because I really like it when Orion’s not just not getting sucked into the gravitational well that is Megatron at his most vigorous, but aware of and taking steps to ensure that he remains his own independent self. ~~also because Megatron following orders is about the hottest thing ever and if Orion’s gonna carry a babby for him then he better do something reeeaaaally nice for his dedicated babymomma. Several somethings, in fact.~~
> 
> It occurs to me I haven’t written much actual porn for quite a while…

* * *

_i wanna know that you hung the stars in the sky_  
 _so on lonely nights i would know your presence_  
 _i wanna feel your love,_ _under my skin_  
 _down through my bones_

* * *

__ON BENDED KNEE_ _

The rumble of distant cheering marked the end of the sixth-joor match. Orion Pax stood in the centre of Megatronus’ spartan prep room and lifted his optics to the ceiling, listening with fine-tuned audials as the wave of sound crashed overhead.

Mechanometres of concrete separated him from the Pit’s massive stands, but ancient piping conducted the screaming and stomping of heavy pedes down into the bowels of the gladiatorial complex. Orion generally found the noise invigorating despite his distaste for the sport itself – it hardly deserved to be called a ‘sport’, didn’t it, just two desperate mecha tearing at each other in the bottom of a silt-floored bowl – but the energy of the crowd had a way of working itself beneath a mech’s plating, setting fire to his nerve centers. It was invigorating in a strange and draining way.

The match had taken longer than he’d expected. Orion would never stop worrying every time Megatronus set foot in the arena. For each minute it stretched onwards he felt a thread of his composure snap.

Thirty-three minutes was a lifetime in the Pits. He was pretty sure his frazzled electromagnetic field could be felt in the next room.

Heavy pedefalls grew from silence, muffled by the closed hallway door. Orion set his lips and turned to face the door, his spark gyring within its chamber. The rhythm of the steps was rapid and uneven, as if the mech making them was injured. They grew to a crescendo, then stopped. Orion imagined they were right outside the door.

A familiar EM field brushed against his own, and his spark leapt, his field flaring bright with naked relief. The door slid open – slowly, there must be rust in the tracks again – and  
suddenly Megatronus was there.

Orion strode forward, uncaring if anyone had followed Megatronus into the room. The gladiator met him halfway, wrapping one massive arm around Orion’s waist and the other cupping his aft, lifting him into the air. Orion sprawled against his broad fighter’s chest, looping his own much thinner arms around Megatronus’ neck.

“I apologise for my tardiness,” Megatronus said, tipping Orion’s head back with a playful nudge and burying his face in the supple curve of Orion’s neck. “My opponent proved more cunning than I had anticipated. You will be pleased to know that the crowd chose to spare him when I had him pinned.”

Orion sighed as his lover suckled lightly on the main nerve conduit beneath his mandibular joint, the faint scrape of teeth raw and exhilarating. “I am very pleased to know that,” he said. And Megatronus would never know how true that was; while they invariably coupled after every fight, doing so with the knowledge that Megatronus had killed another mech scant minutes ago came with a layer of wrongness all of its own.

There was a large, padded armchair in the corner of the room. Orion didn’t think it had been moved once in the vorns that he had known Megatronus – and he should know, he made use of it often enough.

—Perhaps not the sort of use which it had been strictly intended for, he supposed. It was a lot more comfortable than the floor, however, and with a partner who outmassed him as much as Megatronus did then that became a rather pressing consideration.

Megatronus took a step in its direction, perhaps divining his thoughts. Orion felt the limp in his stride, and frowned. “You’re hurt.”

“Barely a mesh wound,” Megatronus grunted. “Hardly lethal; it will heal on its own.”

Orion leaned down and felt around the join of his hip. His fingers brushed up against a ragged tear in the primary layer of plating, and Megatronus hissed through his vents, his optics – still combat-ready red – narrowing down at him.

“You’re something of a busybody, do you realise that?” He set Orion down on the chair and slid his hands between Orion’ thighs, digging his clawtips for a moment into the seams that ran down the insides of his legs. Orion let out a shaky moan and squirmed against the ragged back of the chair.

“I worry about you,” he said, watching Megatronus carefully. “It doesn’t matter how strong or skilled you are; when you fight you are subject to luck like any other mech, and you yourself have taught me that luck is a fickle beast.”

Megatronus’ engine gave a deep, aroused rev. His optics narrowed to burning slits. Orion had barely a moment to gather himself before his thighs were pushed roughly apart, Megatronus yanking his aft to the edge of the chair and hooking his knees over the arms of the chair. His hip actuators protested, but Megatronus lowered his helm and vented a hot wash of air over his panel. On any other day Orion would not have held himself back. On any other day he would have opened on automatic, and Megatronus would be inside him by now, fingers or spike or glossa thrusting heavily into him, field pressing down in triumph as the gladiator took him.

Today, though, was its own. Orion ruthlessly shut down the urgent roil of his coding, denying the requesting ping of his array. Liquid lubricant rolled down the inside of his closed panel, the sensation wet and uncomfortable.

Megatronus frowned – the mildly vexed scowl of a mech confronted with a sudden and unexpected barrier between himself and his goal. He stroked the exposed cables at Orion’s upper thighs, tracing the tip of a thumb over the stubbornly closed panel.

Orion reached out, took Megatronus’ hands in his own. The gladiator’s massive servos swamped his, hand and wrist and the lower part of his forearm as well. Megatronus tipped his helm to the side, giving Orion a wry look. He didn’t understand why Orion had stopped him. Orion could pick out the taut confusion lining his optics.

Their optics were on a level. Orion smiled.

“If I stopped you now, would you listen to me?”

Megatronus’ brows drew lower. “Orion, you know I would. I have, have I not?”

“This seems a pause rather than a stop,” Orion replied. Megatronus’ hands curled around his wrists, the grip strong, enticing. The strength in Megatronus’ frame had never been frightening. Orion knew that those same hands which held him with such surety could tear him limb from limb with little effort, yet he had never shied away from their touch.

Sometimes it seemed natural, instinctive. Other times, he didn’t know what madness had come over him to allow it.

“I don’t understand,” Megatronus said frankly. “Why are you bothering with all that now?”

The awkward curve of his back began to ache. Orion shifted, resting his upper body weight on his elbows. “I’m not afraid of you. The thing is, Megatronus, sometimes it occurs to me that I probably should be.”

There was a moment. Megatronus blinked. His optics dimmed, bright flame-red darkening to the glow of hot coals.

“Might I ask what brought this on?” he asked, his voice deceptively level. Orion could feel the turmoil under the iron skin of his field, could taste the hurt simmering beneath it.

Orion reached out on automatic, wanting to reassure him. “It’s something I’ve been thinking on for a while now. Nothing in particular brought it on, it’s just that…” he trailed off, unsure how to phrase it without implying things that he didn’t want to imply. He glanced up at Megatronus. The gladiator’s plating had flared out, an old self-defense mechanism that he shared with every other mech on the planet. He looked a little put-out by his own frame’s reaction, his expression shifting minutely between offense and embarrassment.

It was kind of adorable, really. Orion smiled, resting his open palms against Megatronus’ wrists. “Think of it from my perspective. I’m a little over half your height and a fifth your total weight. I have to climb you to kiss you properly, unless you take pity on me and pick me up. We became quite good at that, didn’t we? I hardly had to ask you to do it after a while.”

Megatronus’ harsh mouth curved into a smile. The scars in the plating caught, turning the expression rogueish. Orion returned it, continuing. “But there is a point, I think, where we get too practiced. You start doing it on automatic. Then you take it for granted. And if I don’t ask for something but get it anyway, I start to get lazy about asking for it.

“We read each other well, Megatronus. But, I think, not quite that well.”

The residual confusion in Megatronus’ field cleared away. “You think we might start to misunderstand each other?”

“I think it’s possible,” Orion admitted. “I mean, I want to know without words what you want and how to give it to you – it seems romantic, somehow, like the most wonderful expression of trust. And I do trust you, with my body and with my life. But when I think about it, I start to wonder how it would work in practice. I don’t think it would—work, I mean. You’d start giving things you weren’t comfortable with to make your partner happy, or you’d speak up and ruin the illusion. It doesn’t sound like a comfortable relationship, is what I’m saying. Does that make sense?”

There was the oddest expression on Megatronus’ face – a mix of confusion, clarity and pride. The three did combat amongst the wavelengths of his field. Pride was currently winning.

“It does,” he said, his voice a smooth rumble. “Mostly, anyway. I rather agree with you. Perfect mutual understanding does seem an attractive idea, but as a matter of fact I rather like listening to you speak. You come up with the most persuasive arguments, after all.”

Primus below, but that timbre of Megatronus’ voice did wicked things to Orion’s interface protocols! He bit his lip as his valve clenched, his anterior node cluster throbbing where it pressed against his closed valve panel. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Megatron to frag him – because he plainly did, so very badly. He simply wanted it to happen on his own terms.

“Are you sure you’re not just saying that?” he said archly, letting the edge of a coy hint push through his field. Megatronus’ optics widened for a moment, before his smile spread into a feral grin and his own field flexed with released arousal. He must have been holding it in since he’d entered the room.

“I am absolutely certain,” the gladiator rumbled. His servo came up to cup Orion’s waist, the other delving between his legs once again.

This time, Orion opened.

“Very well,” he hummed, his hands clutching at the sides of the chair for strength as Megatronus’ digits pushed between the slick, swollen folds of his valve. Clawtips pressed carefully inside him. Megatronus’ servos were cold; the temperature range between them and the heat inside him was perfect. “I have a proposition,” he continued. “If you truly mean what you say, then perhaps it may be fun to allow me to – hmm – argue my case, as it were.”

He moaned aloud, rolling his hips against the fingers pressing into his valve. Two of Megatronus’ fingers were the width of a smaller mech’s spike. Orion’s valve was well used to the stretch it took to accommodate his much larger lover, but preparation was not only still necessary but something they both enjoyed as well.

There was a bottle of artificial lubricant somewhere in his subspace. Orion had bought it solely because it promised to taste like xenoradon gel. The actual taste was closer to oxidized tin, but that didn’t matter. It wasn’t as if much of it would be going in his _mouth_ , after all.

“I see. Elaborate,” Megatronus commanded, pushing his digits in to the second knuckle. He gave a hard twist of his hand, and Orion arched off the chair with a sharp cry.

“If you deem my argument sufficiently well-thought out, you will follow my direction,” Orion said, once he’d reset his vocaliser. “If you don’t – well, you might have to point me in the right direction.” He let his helm fall back against the chair and smiled up at Megatronus.

The gladiator gave it a mere moment’s thought. “I accept. Prepare yourself, Orion. If you can speak at all coherently after this, you will be an orator the match of any to have ever graced the Senate chambers in Iacon.”

Orion’s optics glimmered with challenge. “I promise you I will not fail.”


End file.
